I can't remember how old I was the first time I asked: "Mama, what does my name mean?" Maybe I was 7 or 8 years old. And my mother answered that it meant "Bitter". That Marike is a derivative of the Latin, Mara, which means bitter.
"But why did you choose that?" I asked, somewhat crestfallen that it had not meant Treasured Rose Petal or Angel of Light or something equally poetic and, well, loving. My then best friend, Dorothea, told me proudly that her German name meant Gift of God.
"I named you after my Tante Marike, who was taken away when she was a girl." And that was then end of that. My mother clammed up.
It was many years later that the discussion arose again, and I learned that my mother's Tante Marike has been institutionalized in a "lunatic asylum" at the age of 13, in Den Haag, Holland. Why? "She had fantasies about what men had done to her and lost her grasp on reality."
"And what happened to her then?" I remember asking cautiously.
"She took her own life." And my mother bustled from the room. Suicide was the ultimate sin against hope & faith in our very catholic home.
It was quite some years later as I was curled in a foetal position in the Red Room at the Wainer Clinic's Rape & Incest Clinic that I wondered if my mother had named me prophetically, out of guilt. I wondered how much of Tante Marike's karma I carried.
Somewhere in my being from early childhood I absorbed the idea that mental illness was something proclaimed by others, and that it had terrible consequences that people couldn't speak about.
It was an unconscious belief hammered home by the tragic suicide of my friend, Deanna Young.
Dee had what is now called Manic Depressive Bipolar Disorder, and was heavily medicated with a drug called Largactyl. Back then, she was termed schizophrenic. She was not-quite-homeless but almost and lived in a rooming house in Dalgety Street, St Kilda with her heroin addicted boyfriend, Ron, and another mentally ill woman named Kylie. They came regularly to the Drop In Center that my then husband, Nathan, managed. It was after months and months of talking with and hanging out with Dee that it was discovered she was pregnant. She didn't know how pregnancy happened, and so it was I who explained ow babies were made, took her to the doctor, sewed maternity clothes for her and helped her prepare for the birth. She moved into a small room on her own and was doing GREAT until the month before the birth, when she became frightened and obsessed with the idea of her baby girl needing a father. So she went back to the squat in Dalgety Street 3 weeks before the birth, and dropped off the radar. I was called by friends 2 days after Dee delivered and had been sent home from the hospital. Her boyfriend in a fit of what I presume was drug induced rage, threw the newborn little girl across the room and injured her badly. The baby was taken away in an ambulance and removed into state care. Dee LOST IT completely and was committed to Larundal - a maximum security psychiatric facility.
I visited her a few times, endured the strip searches and was devastated to see her almost zombie like from medication. She drooled and could barely speak. She had gained a massive amount of weight, was slow moving and looked only at the floor. She was on suicide watch. I tried to give my contact details to the staff in the event something happened or she might be released, but since I was not next of kin and had no court order, my request was denied. Her official parents disowned her. The case manager at Larundal asked me to stop visiting since I seemed to make Dee less content to stay there, and she always asked about the baby after my visits.
It was maybe 7 months later that I was in the local corner store on a Sunday morning, buying milk. I saw on the front of the local tits-&-ass newspaper a sordid & graphic story about a young woman who had been discharged from a psychiatric hospital and, having no one to collect her on discharge, had tried to hitchhike to Adelaide. A truck driver had picked her up, raped her and dumped her by the roadside somewhere in Western Victoria. Too tired to fight anymore, she simply rolled onto the dark lonely highway for the next big roadtrain to finish her off.
And thus my friend Dee succumbed to her mental illness and took her own life - drowning in grief, loss and the dark places of her mind which had not a glimmer of hope. She was failed by everyone - including me.
I have experienced mental illness as a mostly fatal condition, a taboo subject and a diagnosis apparently often wrongly pronounced by medical officials in white lab coats.
When my American lover, Christopher, committed suicide in 2004 just months after I had sold everything and left Australia to live with him here in Thailand, the ultimate ruling from the autopsy-inquest (apart from suicide) was "he must have been depressed."
My beliefs about mental illness have been formed through my experiences, and have involved deep, personal tragedies.
I have to say in my life, now, here in Thailand, I am not aware of knowing anyone who is currently mentally ill. It is not talked about and the culture here also absorbs varying levels of difference and "oddities" far more easily.
It's been hard for me to respond to this question set down by @abundance.tribe, "What Has Shaped Your Attitude And Belief About Mental Health And Mental Ill Health?" And yet I appreciated the question so very much, and the chance to wander through the quiet corridors of my memory today.
Two important things I wanted to add in closing;
(1) I HAVE formally visited the Victorian Department of Health & Community Services and made an official report & statement about my relationship to Dee, on the off chance that her daughter may still miraculously be alive and may one day want to know more about her mother: it has been appended to her file, I understand. I have kept that old news clipping with Dee's picture all these years and it was still too raw to pull it out this evening to look at it. My big dream? To be contacted by this girl (she'd now be in her mid 30s) and to be able to tell her what a delightful person her mother was and how very much she was wanted and anticipated as a baby.
(2) I deliberated so carefully and so long about the official Sanskrit name my Thai daughter was to be given by the monks to fit her astrology at birth. In the end, I chose the name Kawisaraa which, in the Pali-Sanskrit, means both The Poet and Wise & Clever of Heart. I have become so very aware of the power of a name, and the karma it invokes.
Feeling a little sad and off to gaze at the stars on a hot tropical night whilst the cicadas and the frogs sing to the spirits of those who couldn't cope in our harsh world and left us - left me - all too soon.
Flying Free.
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This was hard to read, I can't imagine how had it must have been to experience.
Firstly, I want to say that I don't believe you did fail Dee. You tried to make sure you would be there for her and you were blocked from helping her. I'd like to think that maybe Dee knows this now.
The more I learn about "mental health," in particular the way it's dealt with in the western world, the more I wonder if we're too quick to diagnose, label and get the medical teams and medication in. It almost feels like we're coming full circle back to the Victorian era of just shoving those who cause problems to the societal status quo back into mental asylums. Most mental health can be managed with the right family and friend support. Unfortunately, it seems like some of the worst mental health issues start in a bad family environment.
Appreciate you sharing what must have been hard to share. Well worth the badge, in my opinion.
Thank you. Yes, it was painful and difficult to write.
What does it say after 20ish hours that yours is the only comment? That it's easier to sidestep mental health content or "intense" stuff? My PeakD view counter says that today it had only 3 unique views with an average time of only 11 seconds. 😭
I think most western mental health "diagnoses" do largely get it wrong; I witness and view a differing level of family, community and connectedness here in Thailand which seems to result in a much different outcome. People are happier and calmer, generally speaking. And they seem to be more attuned with what they need and how to reach out for help.
And yes, I agree that most (if not all) mental health issues either start with, or are exacerbated by, a poor family situation.
Hugs and thank you for reading & responding. Appreciated so much.
!ENGAGE 25
Or maybe that it's hard to read or talk about this kind of thing. I certainly find it hard to find the right words and even now I don't know if I did. I am aware of how hollow words can come across as. There is little that can be said to help the way someone feels in these situations.
On the subject of interaction, I was just discussing with @crosheille yesterday how we miss the conversations and interaction we used to have on posts. Something that she seems to have resurrected well for the needlework community. I haven't had that much interaction on a post for what feels like a year, yet it used to be fairly common.
I keep forgetting this bit:
!ENGAGE 25
Aaaaawww.... thank you. x
ENGAGEtokens.ENGAGEtokens.I can see why it was difficult to write about these poor people, how horrific to have suffered a mental illness and be locked up like that at such a young age for your aunt, absolutely tragic! And the story of your friend Dee is equally sad, but I really don't believe you can take any blame for that, your hands were tied really, not being family! The sad part is that it often was the caretakers that abused them and some still do that in this day and age although I'd like to believe that is rare!
Sad sad story @artelislives! Thank you for sharing.
It is sad... these several days later I am still affected by having spent the time to remember and write. How much worse for someone incarcerated, silenced, drugged, terrified??
Hands tied... Hmmm... my head agrees with you but my heart will probably always feel that I didn't do enough.
!ENGAGE 25
ENGAGEtokens.To be frank, I cried reading this post. Good God, so much pain and tragedy but at the same time the strength and strength to move on and help others! My words and feelings are confused, they crowd ... @artemislives I bow before you, for having overcome what you had to live, and for having been so wise to give your daughter a beautiful name, which gives her the possibility of live a better existence. Hopefully you can contact Dee's daughter, and that her fate has been much better than her mother's; And I am sure that she, from the place or dimension where she is, knows the effort and attempts you made to help her, remember that for the deceased there is no time, they can see past, present and future without restrictions. I send you from here, from Venezuela, a big hug and many blessings.
Para ser franca, lloré leyendo este post. ¡Dios santo, tanto dolor y tragedia pero a la vez la entereza y fortaleza para seguir adelante y ayudar a los demás! Mis palabras y sentimientos se confunden, se agolpan...@artemislives hago una reverencia ante tí, por haber superado lo que te tocó vivir, y por haber sido tan sabia para dar a tu hija un nombre hermoso, que le dé la posibilidad de vivir una existencia mejor. Ojalá y puedas contactar a la hija de Dee, y que su destino haya sido mucho mejor que el de su madre; y segura estoy que ella, desde el sitio o dimensión en donde se encuentre, sabe el esfuerzo e intentos que hiciste por ayudarla, recuerda que para los difuntos no existe tiempo, ellos pueden ver pasado, presente y futuro sin restricciones. Te envío desde aquí, desde Venezuela, un gran gran abrazo y muchas bendiciones.
It is truly only the comfort of knowing that we are eternal beings that makes any of this bearable... indeed, in the end, one blesses one's circumstances for what they forge within us. I'm sure the horse shoe hates the fire and the relentless banging, but is happy to be of service to the beautiful old horse with sore feet. *We will only know our service, and our purpose, at the end of our lives .... I think. 😉
Appreciated your heartfelt response. !ENGAGE 25
What a beautiful and accurate answer! Yes, fortunately, as soul beings, we are eternal.
¡Que hermosa y certera respuesta! Sí, afortunadamente, como seres almados, somos eternos.
When you GET THIS - that we are eternal beings, souls on a learning journey to grow - then suffering and "people doing things to us" disappear. We have chosen our path to evolve, and the higher the calling the deeper the suffering - cos it is only there that the alchemy of love really ever happens.
ENGAGEtokens.I can see how painful this must have been for you, I really appreciate sharing this part of your life with us and I hope that it has brought you some healing. Being able to express our feelings and emotions is so important and this shows us just why it is so. xxx
Sharing my feelings about this didn't bring me healing, per se, nor even a feeling of relief. Au contraire. I'm not one who wants to blurt to strangers, nor enjoys it much when others do. My experience observing others is that a good public blurt brings temporary relief to many (not unlike quick sex with a stranger is scratching an itch) but definitely it's a long shot to call it "healing". I shared my story to grow an important discussion.
Yes, my life has had painful bits. That's OK. It is the exploration of them internally & spiritually and connecting with meaning for myself, within myself that brings a sense of peace about who I am and the incarnation I have chosen to grow through.
All good. Appreciate you stopping by.
!ENGAGE 25
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